Nature is fun - even the rocks.

The nature pilgrimage was great as always, although this year I spent half the time missing Rick and the other half hiking through thick woods and up hills and generally tiring myself out. The excersize was welcome, but now my legs are complaining about it. We started out on Friday with rain, but that let up and only sprinkled throughout the day while I went out and did some nature art with pastels. That was a good session, I actually learned something about working with pastels and managed to bring back a decent half-finished work of art. Mom has pastels here that she said I could use to finish it up, when and if I want to.

Saturday was busy, since in the morning I went geocaching with the Jamestown Audubon Society's teen group. It was their first time and mine too, and it took us a while to acquaint ourselves with the GPS reciever we'd borrowed and to get the hang of finding the caches. We got two of them, and had a great time walking up and down hills in the course of our treasure hunt. It's exciting to find the geocaches and see what's inside, though one of them was only full of cheap plastic toys, the other had some better things inside. The idea of geocaching is that if you find a cache and remove something, you should put something back, so I left a bead lizard I had made a few years ago at camp in one of the caches. I didn't take anything for myself, deciding to leave the treasures to the Audubon group. It was fun enough to get involved in a treasure hunt and learn something about how to use a GPS reciever.

After the geocaching excitement I got to take a four hour hike through the most wild country in the park, where there is an old growth forest with trees over 400 years old in some places. It was an amazing tour and our guide was very knowledgeable, having done this same walk (always a different, unmarked route) for years. He went and explored a place that he said he'd never been, and it turned out to hold some great surprises. I saw a few flowers that I hadn't seen much of before, and also got to taste a basswood leaf. They're edible in the springtime before they get too big and tough; I didn't know that before. It's amazing what you learn when you're not expecting it.

Today there were some sessions in the morning but we slept in and spent the morning packing instead. After the nature pilgrimage we always head up the road a few miles to the most awesome rock outcroppings in the park - Thunder Rocks. We spend a few hours there among the boulders, have lunch and climb. The area sits on a hilltop and has a grouping of huge, old chunks of sedimentary rock that must have gotten kicked up from the bedrock when the glaciers were passing through. While the park does not condone climbing them, most people under the age of 40 or so try to climb every rock there, even the ones that have been proven time after time to be unscalable. A few are small and have plenty of handholds or tree roots to grab onto, while others are huge and provide some challenging faces. Some are mossy and damp from unseen springs or cracks within them, which makes climbing all the more fun (and dangerous). There is one boulder about 40 feet high which has a wonderfully easy crevice straight up the side, until within feet of the top, where it overhangs and forms a horizontal ledge underneath, which is the only way to the top once you're up the crevice. That ledge is the bane of my climbing experience because I've never quite gotten up the courage to crawl along it (remember, it's 40+ feet up and mostly smooth, which means no handholds). I still want to get on top of that rock one day. The other side isn't bad to climb either but getting started is tough without a boost or a rope. Anyway, I climbed all over and got up a few challenging rocks and finally scraped my knee on one, but came back dirty and tired and smiling nonetheless. We got home and unpacked the van, and then headed for the pool. The water was a balmy 68 F, which isn't bad for this time of year and felt fantastic after the heat of Thunder Rocks and the car ride back. Sister and friend joined us after a little while and we all splashed around and fought over the pool floaties while the adults watched from a safe and shaded distance. I must have spent about an hour in the water, and I feel slightly waterlogged but really content. It's been a relatively good weekend.

I went for another walk today, around the five acres or so that's on the far side of the driveway. There are a lot of paths, or at least path remnants, where the boys who lived here before us used to ride their dirtbikes. They hunted, too. Now we three girls don't do anything of the sort and the woodland plants have started to reclaim things. There are wild berries of all sorts back there, and it's perfect for the deer, who have increased their numbers despite the hunters on adjacent properties. All the paths are delightfully overgrown and while I know I shouldn't be wandering barefoot through the brush, it's too much trouble to put on pants and sneakers just for a fifteen minute traipse down the grassy deer paths.

I startled a few birds on the way, and saw a doe and fawn from a distance, but the doe noticed me and when I tried to get closer she snorted and ran. The fawn was tiny, and I wish I'd have had my camera to try to get a picture, but it probably wouldn't have come out. I didn't see any other wild creatures, unless the newts in the pond count. The muskrat seems to be back, as there's a new hole on the end where the pond is damned up and seeps out into a little creek. It's marshy ground and there are a lot of deer tracks, though they're hidden under the buttercups this time of year. I love the wildflowers we have on the property, and I can find just about any of them at a moment's notice - proof I spend too much time wandering aimlessly in the woods.

I think I meandered into a patch of poison ivy, but since I stepped out and came back and washed my feet, I don't think I'll end up with it. There's no itching so far, anyway. I don't know, maybe it wasn't poison ivy at all. I was tempted to pick a leaf and rub it on a patch of skin just to test the theory that I'm immune (I've suspected as much since last summer when I wandered around several paths at camp which were overgrown with the stuff and never came up with so much as a single itchy spot). Then again... I'm going to spend three days in nature this weekend and I don't feel like starting them off with poison ivy. Maybe I'll end them with it instead. :P

It's The End of The World... Again.

I've been hearing a lot recently about some very disturbing topics, from some very non-politically oriented sources. This bothers me. These forums are getting surprisingly politically active considering most of the members are only connected because they own the same kind of car. This thread might be expected, since it's relevant to the price of gas... but it's still odd that something so "deep" would find its way to a forum. In my experiences forums, especially the larger ones, tend to be shallow places; people in large groups start experiencing herd mentality and don't deal well with actual thought.

There is more, too. I have heard friends talking about news they've heard or read regarding the oil shortage and our privacy and 'conspiracy theories', and the media is picking up on more "crisis" stories than I seem to remember. These stories aren't just sitting on the back pages any more; someone seems to think they're important and the public should see them. But why?

Deforestation and desertification in the Sahara haven't been addressed much, even though that's a major environmental issue. Nor has the news picked up on the remaining insurgents in Iraq who continue to kill our soldiers every day using simple bombs and guerilla warfare. A thought just occurred to me: there's almost no way to win against guerilla fighters. We started (and ended) the American Revolution with guerilla tactics which the British troops couldn't understand or strategize against. The French Revolution went much the same way until the people took control (and then got way out of control with Mme Guillotine). Vietnam? WWII and the island hopping? Take a wild guess what tactics were used. How many battles have people really won against guerilla warfare? I can't name one war where the tactic was used against an "organized" army in the open and the organization paid off in the long run. Surprise is an element that is difficult to overcome.

Back on topic: the news. The media online has become much more focused on topics other than Iraq, and it seems to me that they're digging up controversial issues (some of which, coincidentally, have been around for decades or longer) to distract the public eye from more pressing issues. It seems to be working, too. I don't keep up with the news very well, except what I catch if CNN happens to be on in a room I'm in, or someone posts it on a blog I watch. I don't know how much of the news is still about the War on Terror. I did catch a few muted minutes of CNN in a restaurant the other day. they were doing a story on Bush. The video was of him speaking to a group of officers at some military establishment, and the caption said something to the effect of "Bush: Winning the War in Iraq." I did a double-take and nearly spit out my soda. Winning? War?! Excuse me, but wasn't the 'war' over last year? Didn't Bush say then that we had won against the terrorists and were going to work on reconstruction? Oh, right. There's that insurgence thing going on. Why is he telling us we're winning when people still can't live in the major cities because of the daily skirmishes and car bombs? Where are those construction companies and engineers we are supposed to be seeing working peacefully with the Iraqis to rebuild their homes and workplaces? What ever happened to CNN,NBC,MSNBC, etc sending journalists over and giving us live updates on the situation? If the war is ongoing, shouldn't the public be informed of what's going on from the source of the action and not from a newsroom thousands of miles away?

But the public should focus on other issues, like the much-debated peak in oil production and the threat from Muslim Terrorists(tm). After all, we've always been at war with Iraq, we never were looking for WMDs anyway so of course there weren't any to find, and the reconstruction? They had an election, that's one step toward democracy!

You know, Star Wars seems like a pretty damn relevant political commentary right now, what with the panic about the war and the government (the Senate in SW) taking on more and more power... *blink* The second Trilogy hits pretty close to home as far as reflecting the general state of politics here, and that's scary too. I really don't like the idea of G.W. being a Sith Lord.

I feel better now...

I've cleaned up the kitchen a bit and it looks minimally better than it did. Even minimal is a good improvement, though. If I wasn't worried about annoying the neighbors I'd vacuum as well, because the living room needs it. Hm... At any rate, I have 4 hours to fill and I might as well make good use of it. This apartment needs a maid (and maybe I can leave a sarcastic note to the guys asking for payment for a few hours' cleaning service). ^_^

Cleaning is fulfilling. It makes me feel useful and busy and saves my brain from 8 hours a day of staring at computer monitors and TV screens. I think I would have made a very good housewife a few decades ago, if I had the sense to learn how to cook...

Mm...

Excuse the sap to follow. I had to babble at someone :-p

I've got a country love song stuck in my head again... "When I Think About Angels" by Jamie O'Neal. The lyrics go (in part):
"The taste of sugar sure reminds me of your kiss,
I like the way that they both linger on my lips.
Kisses remind me of a field of butterflies;
must be the way my heart is fluttering inside.
Beautiful distraction, you make every thought a chain reaction.
When I think about rain, I think about singin'.
When I think about singin' it's a heavenly tune.
When I think about heaven then I think about angels;
When I think about angels, I think about you..."

Anyway. It was raining this morning and I woke up warm and happy and right where I wanted to be: in a little apartment outside of Pittsburgh; my boyfriend's apartment. It might be messy (what do you expect when you put three geeky college guys together in a small area?) but it's his and that makes me happy. His two roommates (one of whom shares this large bedroom with him) are gone for the weekend, and he's off to work for the day so I'm here all by myself till he gets back. I don't mind it though... there's more than enough to keep me entertained (looking out the windows, reading, TV, PS2, N64, movies, internet, the cross-stitch I brought with me, and if all else fails, cleaning ;p) until he gets back at 8:30 or so.

In other news, I saw Episode III last weekend. Yes, that's geeky. No, I still don't label myself a geek. It was better than I or II, but as far as comparing it to the first (chronologically speaking) trilogy... I haven't seen IV, V or VI since I was little and I don't remember them. At any rate, just to take up space...
Movie Review: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of The Sith.
Starring: Hayden Christiensen as Anakin Skywalker, Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan Kenobi, Natalie Portman as Padmé... and many more. There are a lot of big names in this movie. Personally, aside from the fact that they drew a big, new audience to the movies these past few years, I didn't see a reason to drop all of these superstars into one movie together. Maybe that's just me.

Is it sad that I still don't have a lightsabre? After all the dramatic shots of the famous blue, green and red blades swinging through various aliens, Jedi and Sith Lords in Episode III, I've had enough lightsabre dueling to last me a few weeks at least. A comment from the peanut gallery: "They really don't like right arms, do they?" I'd have to say no, Bob, they don't like them at all. There seems to be a lot of limb-severing going on in the second Star Wars trilogy and III tops its predecessors by a long shot. George Lucas must have a cauterization fetish... all these lightsabre deaths and not a drop of stage blood in sight. Hey, whatever keeps it PG-13, eh?

The plot of this one was a little darker than the previous two, as the title probably warned us if we were paying attention. I can't complain about realism, since Sci-fi movies tend to be a little less... "real" than most, but I did note that in
one scene Anakin's right arm (which was replaced with a robotic one previously and isn't often seen) was cut off a little lower than it had been shown when the cut was made. Hmm... well, I'm not yelling. The graphics/effects people had their hands full with this one already. Oh, and Yoda kicks serious arse for a 3" tall, 900 year old... whatever he is. Speak well and wisely, Yoda does, and the Force is with him.

This movie wraps up the package of six very well, giving us more insight into Luke and Leia's father, the reason they were separated and the answers to questions that have probably haunted past generations of Star Wars fans (I know they bothered me a little ;p): What's with Vader's outfit? What happened to Anakin that made him turn to the Dark Side? And last, but certainly not least: has George finally lost it? (I think so, but at least he makes cool movies.) The boi claims we knew all that before. I stuck my tongue out at him. I think if there were any loose ends to be tied up it would be with the minor characters who caught our attention for fifteen minutes and then wandered off into space and weren't seen again. Chewbacca needs more attention. Yeah, yeah, the boi says, he gets lots of attention in the other movies... well, like I said I haven't seen the first trilogy in forever.

After the movie I went to Burger King, where they're releasing five new toys a week with their Kids' Meals. I got a little stuffed Chewy, the boi got a little wind-up Yoda who actually flips over backwards. rox0r.
[/geek]

I agree.

Kines posted a wonderful rant recently. Read it, because it's better written than what I could do and it expresses my feelings on the subject rather well. Thank you, Kines.

Walking

I walked to the Lily Dale Assembly Office today to drop off a payment for the assessment. It was a nice walk, since today is just warm enough to be comfortable in a tshirt and the wind off the lake was just cool enough to make me glad for the sweatshirt I was wearing. A few interesting things happened along the way, including my being whistled at by some young men who were doing a paving job on someone's driveway. I don't know why anyone would whistle at me. Would you whistle at a tall, thin brunette wearing glasses and a baggy sweatshirt? I will never understand males, especially hormonal adolescent males. As far as I can guess, this one either whistled at me because he was truly impressed by my scrawny (lack of) sex appeal, or because he thought it was funny to 'tease' the poor stick figure. I'm going with option number two, because a few seconds after he whistled, he yelled "Shake that a$$!" and as everybody knows, I have no arse to shake. I'm totally without any shakeability and this has been proven. Soo... I have no choice but to conclude, once again, that boys will be boys (and therefore act in ungentlemanly ways) and there's nothing we ladies can do about it.

As I was walking today I never kept my eyes on the road right in front of me. There was no need - I was moving slowly, there were no other pedestrians along the way, there was no sidewalk to keep my feet on and no signs directed at people walking with the exception of the "Posted" signs on various trees. It was a quiet walk, and there was a lot going on around me that took my attention away from the road in all its bland emptiness. The speedwell, dandelions, chamomile, daisies, strawberries, ivy and forget-me-nots are all blooming, sometimes making fantastic carpets out of people's lawns, and I found a white flower I don't know, growing quietly at a single spot on the shore. The lakes (there are three small ones, connected in something of a 'U' shape) were beautifully blue and a little wind pushed wavelets up onto the shore. The sound was wonderfully calming. On the way back, just outside the Lily Dale gates, I startled a deer a few feet away in the woods - I hadn't seen it until it went crashing away into the undergrowth. I stood and watched it go; I don't think the two drivers who passed me just then saw anything at all.

That's a problem with driving. When you drive, you are going from point A to point B on a predirected course which can't be changed too much because most vehicles aren't any good in nature - they only work in "civilized" areas with gas stations and roads. Even bicyclists these days have to be aware of the road, and they lose out on some of the scenery. It's tough to stop a car to watch a butterfly, or to bend over from a bike seat to look at a wildflower as you pass it. And it's tough to think, too. Drivers ought to have their minds on the road, and not on the weather or what's for dinner or, God forbid, something deep or spiritual. Walking gives us a chance to use the legs we were given for their original purpose -moving us from place to place- and it lets us think at the same time. We don't miss out on the world as it rushes by our windows and fades away. We experience it and are part of it and if we like we can sit down to watch the water flow under a bridge, or look up to watch the wind in the trees. It's nature, it's beautiful and imperfect and awe-inspiring; it's our world and we need to pay more attention to it than just letting it pass by as we move encapsulated in our SUVs and little sports cars. That could have been an organized rant if I edited more. I just wanted the thought there, so maybe I can rant later.

Penguins

It's been a long week. Not so bad at the beginning, because I got to sleep in. But suddenly I'm finding myself very, very tired.

I got to relax all the way to Wednesday, oh joy... and then Wednesday afternoon and evening, and all of Thursday and some of Friday were spent at Dad's house. That meant a lot of work, including cleaning up the house a bit, helping with the porch roof at the cottage, and other such things. I even made a BIG pan of lasagna last night (and yes, I'm sure that's spelled wrong... it's midight, I'm tired). It was pretty good, considering that was a first for me. I almost feel proud of my minimal cooking skills. Maybe I should get some recipes together so I can cook when I get back to college. And maybe I should actually get myself together and make those cherry pies I said I was going to.

Tonight I went to a concert. My friend's mother and sister are both members of a celtic trio called Johnny-In-A-Box. They're not Nickel Creek status (or skill level) yet but they're pretty darn good for a family affair. I enjoyed the music, and the company (thanks, Steph) and overall had a fun evening there. After the band, a local improv group came up (late, but that didn't matter, as more music was just as good as more laughs, in my opinion). They did a few games, got a lot of audience participation and left me laughing pretty hard at some points. Penguins are going to be a funny thing for a while now.

Sister and another friend of mine went to a concert a few blocks from my little artsy cafe - a punk rock show. Lots of local bands, music so loud I'm surpised the glass wasn't shaking in the windows. I would have gone in to find them after I left the cafe, but I wasn't up to wading through 30 punks to find the two I wanted to see, and the ones outside gave me odd looks as I walked by, since a wrap skirt and sandals just don't fit that 'scene' very well. I decided to sit in the car where I'd be safe from both an impending headache and the attention of several bored punks. Tired girl + excited people = no fun.

I'm Home...

And the computer's working, and (obviously) I can get online. Going shopping with mom this afternoon, just for an excuse not to unpack.

Birds of Sadness, Pandora's Box and Hope - and Why Blackberry Kisses Are The Best Kind of All.

I've just finished reading "Walk Two Moons." I don't know why today I decided to read a children's book that I've owned since I was in elementary school. As far as I can recall, I never read it. But it's a Newbery Medal winner and it's by Sharon Creech - a fantastic author of young adult literature. I'm glad I picked it up. The story grabbed me in ways I don't think it would have if I were younger, maybe because I'm in the middle. I can identify with the children in the tale as much as the adults. I know a part of everybody and it makes the story that much stronger for me. If you have not read it, I advise you to find a copy - or I'll send you mine, as it's a registered BookCrossing book and I've been planning a Release for it since Easter.

It's a sad book. "You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair." Someone's mother runs away. Someone else's mother is never coming back. There are bittersweet memories about home and family. There is a little tangent about Pandora's box, and how Pandora, being curious, opened it and let out all the bad things into the world - and there was Hope at the bottom of the box. It's a tough book to explain without reading it, but the part that caught in my consciousness the most involved blackberry kisses. They're kisses that, for Salamanca, taste like blackberry - because that's what her mother had just put in her mouth before she kissed the tree.

See, Salamanca's mother loved trees. I can't paraphrase the story, so here it is:
"As she approached the corner of the barn where the sugar maple stands, she plucked a few blackberries from a stray bush and popped them into her mouth. She looked all around her - back at the house, across the fields, and up into the canopy of branches overhead. She took several quick steps up to the trunk of the maple, threw her arms around it, and kissed that tree soundly.
Later that day, I examined this tree trunk. I tried to wrap my arms about it, but the trunk was much bigger than it had seemed from my window. I looked up at where her mouth must have touched the trunk. I probably imagined this, but I thought I could detect a small dark stain, as from a blackberry kiss.
I put my ear against the trunk fo the tree and listened. I faced that tree squarely and kissed it firmly. To this day, I can smell the smell of the bark - a sweet, woody smell - and feel the ridges in the bark, and taste that distinctive taste on my lips."

The kiss tasted like blackberry, of course. Later Sal falls in love - though she doesn't use that word. She simply shares a blackberry kiss with the boy. I think that the blackberry kisses are Sal's expression of love; the taste of blackberries is a reminder of her mother, who she loved, and later she connects it to the boy she also falls in love with. The idea seems romantic and slightly abstract - I can't capture it here. I guess what I wanted to say is that everyone has a kind of Blackberry Kiss. They're the little actions or phrases or expressions that capture love for us, immediately recognizeable and perfectly unique. They're a thing two people share, even if they take it for granted or don't always notice it. They're little things - smiles and tiny presents and the way she brushes his hair out of his eyes. Blackberry Kisses take a second to happen, but they take a lifetime to forget. And maybe, like wild blackberries, they can be bittersweet.

Poly Ticks

This post is pretty late, so I assume everyone's heard the news regarding ANWR.

Quote:
"An attempt to require automakers to increase fuel economy to a fleet average of 33 miles per gallon over the next decade was defeated 254-177.

Rep. Sherwood Boehlert, R-New York, a co-sponsor of the auto fuel economy proposal, said it would have reduced oil use by 2 million barrels a day -- more than could be taken from ANWR -- by 2020. He described as "a bunch of nonsense" claims by opponents that the increased fuel economy would cost the auto industry jobs, force consumers to buy smaller cars and reduce automobile safety."

Hooray for them quoting a Republican as being FOR the defeated fuel economy proposal... that goes against stereotype. But the fact that increasing fuel economy is not considered important enough to pass is ironic. After all, isn't the whole point of drilling in ANWR to reduce our dependence on foreign oil? Oh, but of course - we're only seeking to increase dependence on our own oil. I almost thought that someone had come up with a sensible idea and wanted to reduce America's dependence on a non-renewable, heavily polluting energy source.

This protest of the bill seemed like a good idea at the time. Sign it and pass it on, if you like.

I suppose if I really do become a teacher I'll at least be able to identify with the kids...

I randomly turned on the television today, just to see if I could find anything of interest. The university supplies cable TV with 30-40 channels including Discovery, Sci-Fi, MTV, CNN, NBC, ABC, FOX, ESPN, TBS, TLC... you get the picture. After half an hour of flipping through every channel six times over, the only thing that caught my eye was...

Arthur. Yep, that's right. The PBS kids' show that I've been watching since I can remember. CNN was harping on the Pope's latest bowel movements, or something similar; Discovery was doing something History-channel like with lots of interview segments and no explanation whatsoever. So I turned to something that will never go bad: PBS, with its daily dose of moral, sensible, educational shows like Arthur, ZOOM and Reading Rainbow (Yay!).

I know I should be putting the finishing touches on my thesis paper but I'm more interested in everything else there is to do... like stare out the window, take a nap and maybe read something.

Someone save the children...

...from me.

I want to stomp and scream and throw things and slam doors.

This is the THIRD time I've forgotten to go to my Monday night KidsRead tutoring sessions. Tonight was the last night, and it was the picnic, which I wanted to go to - no, which I said I'd go to. I am also dangerously close to not having enough service hours right now. I love volunteering, and I'm not doing it only for the hours, but the fact remains that HC scholarship recipients have to do a certain amount of community service hours each semester. And I was too busy to volunteer last semester. Thank gods for long TOST tech nights... and I CAN NOT say I was that busy that I couldn't set aside three hours today. I was just that forgetful.

I made a basket - a fucking HANDMADE basket - (with candy in it!) for the little boy I worked with. I spent time on it, I was proud of it. I wanted to hand it to him and thank him for being such a good student. He would have smiled at me and maybe taken a piece of candy out and put it in his mouth and gone to show his parents the little gift and I would have felt pleased that I'd done something right.

This morning at 9:30 I reminded myself that it was Monday. I put the basket on my dresser, where it was at eye level and I surely wouldn't forget it! This morning I looked at the basket, moved the basket closer to my LOTR calendar and thought: "I'm going to the picnic tonight!"

This evening at 9:50 I looked at my computer clock, looked at my calendar, and nearly went looking for a large, durable surface to dent my skull upon.

I swear to Japan and back I'm going to be the world's worst teacher. I'll forget that it's Monday and I have a class, and I'll wander off and realize three hours later that my kindergarteners are stabbing each other with playground wood chips, as I walk innocently past the school.

I frustrate myself so much sometimes I think if I were another person, myself would kill me.

I wanted to write a long, thoughtful entry tonight, with a lot of important-looking links to various things concerning one of the few topics I've had on my mind of late. But I have laundry to do and a thesis paper to continue revising, and I'm angry at myself again. Thought can wait.

Aahhh...

...choo.

*sniffle* I believe I've gotten some sort of cold.

When I realized it was sneaking up on me last night I made and drank enough tea to sink a small boat, and took a vitamin and went to bed. I'm a firm believer in the power of tea to fix everything ice cream doesn't (and a few things it does).

Maybe it was the wrong kind of tea. Despite getting only nine hours of sleep my body refuses to let me crawl back into bed and stay there. "You slept in 3 hours already!" says my self to me, and I say "Self, you're sick. You need sleep, just go back to bed."

Maybe I'll find something to eat and make myself some more tea. Armed with tea and a good book and the Kleenex, I can get through a cold well enough. The thesis rewrite can wait until my head stops feeling like a sodden cottonball (heavy and fuzzy at the edges).

...For I Have Sinned

I have a confession to make.

A terrible, horrible confession. You'll probably want to run away screaming when you read it.

I mean it. It's that bad. Those with weak stomachs should immediately stop reading.

...I said stop. Now.

But since you're still here, I might as well get this over with...

...are you sure you want to hear it?

Okay.

I spent half my week's laundry money on another plant at the Earth Day celebration.

There, it's out. Now you all know what a horrible person I am. Go on, throw dirt. I know you want to.

It's an Angel Wing Begonia (and yes, I think it's the 'crackling rose' variety) and it just jumped up and down and yelled my name when I walked by it... in a plant-like, rustling in the breeze kind of way. I'm excited; this is another bit of green to add to my miniature jungle. ^_^

Two weeks till I get out of here, about two months till camp starts. Three months till one year with Rick. Slightly over four months until I'm back here again. o.o ..eep? A year till I head for Mexico. Three years to graduation, if I finish on time. Lots to look forward to... and lots to get ready for. Life moves too fast at times.

Oh yeah... and this.
Discuss? (I might do another entry on it, if I ever get around to it).

Yes, well.

--This is a really self-centered entry. It's probably not worth your time.--

It's been a relatively productive day, as far as most of my days go, but I don't really feel as though I've done much. I just went about my tasks this morning, got everything done by 4:30, even with a long break to read blogs, and went to sleep until just before the evening's excitement began. TOST meeting, a foreign film, and home to write my critique so I can turn it in tomorrow... right? No. I hadn't talked to Rick all day - he was 'online' but not there, and didn't reply to me on msn. When I walked in I sat down to start typing and Rick signed on, and then the phone rang - it was Dad/Jamie. I chatted with Jamie a little bit. She made Seuss meow into the phone for me,and then she hung up to call VQ. I don't know why, but hearing that cat made me cry... I guess I'm homesick still. When I got off the phone Ellisa was online, and we talked but I wanted to do my homework so I told her I was going. Rick talked, too... but not long. He hasn't had time to chat for long periods of time lately, being at Jane's and all. I'm glad that he's enjoying his break but at the same time there's some part of me that's being very clingy and wants him to drop everything and come back here.

He's coming on Tuesday. I should be glad that I get the day off and have the whole day to spend with him and won't have to worry about homework or classes or anything really terribly important... And I am. I'm incredibly grateful that it worked out this way. I just wish Tuesday would get here faster. And that my article for the Penn would write itself, along with the fine arts critique I'm now putting off. I can't find anything to say about the film. I guess it was good, but I just don't have much of an opinion on it, and I didn't take notes, and I don't care. It's just a film. I saw it, I picked up on a line they censored, I noticed that it actually had a plot.

The people next door in Mara's room are loud, again. Cheryl's over there - I just heard her laugh. She has a really unique laugh. Really deep, really loud, really annoying at 11pm. Damn them all. They're laughing over something, talking loudly, ignoring the fact that it's 11 on a Sunday and they might just have neighbors who are actually working or trying to sleep. Of course, they wouldn't think. 'Considerate' is not a word most people remember these days, unless they want someone else to remember it for them. I wonder if banging on the wall will help.

It's almost funny. I'm not tired, really, because I slept for twelve hours last night plus two this afternoon and only left my room a few times. It's not as though I've had an exhausting day, even though Saturday sucked a lot of energy. I'm just in a bad mood from missing family and friends and wanting school to end already and knowing how much more work I have to do before things will be over and knowing I can't reach out for anyone right now, because who would listen, and what would I say anyway?

Too far?

I have the urge to use this blog like a journal today - personal, private and meant only for my eyes, maybe for Rick's. Of course that's not a good idea, but I'm less put off by the fact that it would be opening myself up than I am by the fact that I'd probably offend someone and bring down some consequences I don't want to deal with.

I don't mind telling people about myself. It's funny. Jane has called me mysterious, which implies that I don't give away much information... and yet I will gladly sit down with someone I hardly know and play Truth until they've found out my "deepest" or "darkest" secrets. There are few things I am unwilling to tell a friend; there are few secrets I keep to myself. I've found that openness and honesty tend to drive away false friends and draw true ones closer. I'm sure I go too far sometimes, though.

So I question: How far is too far? How open, honest, or blunt can I be before I demolish everyone's ideas of tact and privacy? I know how to use tact and when to be quiet, I won't open myself needlessly most of the time. But when I do, nobody tells me when to shut up. I know that my friends don't want to hear all the inane details of my weekends with Rick, however wonderful they might be to me. I know that some of my imaginings are better left unsaid and that some comments might have too strong a bite. But I still love walking the line and sometimes I jump (or fall) over it.

I respect others' need for privacy, and I understand the necesity of keeping some parts of yourself hidden - I do not think anyone knows everything about me, as open as I may be. And incredibly enough, I'm a shy person in most situations. But some part of me just wants to open up and yell things at the world.

Is it a terrible thing to delight in raw, unfiltered truth (or opinion) as far as one can do so? Tact is fun on occasion, and useful in social situations, I know this. But bare truth can be much more powerful. And as long as I speak plainly, I know everyone understands. If only politicians would be so direct.

I have...

...a spider in a jar. This is presumably the same little beast who so surprised me a few days ago. She (I assume her gender) is a little golden-brown thing a little bigger than my thumbnail, legs and all. She's very active, crawling 'round and 'round the jar with its little notebook on top. I've been watching her, curiously enough. I plan to take her outside in a little while, but I want to know what kind she is first. No sense in letting a learning opportunity go to waste, even if it's the creature I fear most.

Well, I fear them when they're loose, at least. Having one captive isn't quite so bad. She might be spinning a web there in the jar... It's amazing what the little things can do. She doesn't appear to be of the poisonous variety, as far as I can tell. There's been no pictures or description matching what she looks like online. As a matter of fact, I can't connect this little one to any family of spider on the websites I've checked.

Anyone know anything about spiders? She's about 1/2" long (as best I can measure through a jar) with a slender light white/yellow abdomen and a slightly darker thorax. There are no clear markings on her abdomen from what I've been able to observe. Her legs are thin and hairless, with dark brown tips. I think she's a web-spinner and not a hunter because she looks like she's building a web in the jar. Now that I can't figure out what she is I'm even more curious. I know she's not a wolf spider, an orb-weaver or any of the better-known poisonous types. So far her closest cousins seem to be funnel-weavers, though why one of those would be in my room is beyond me, I've never seen them indoors before. I think her eyes are arranged in a row of four on the top of her head and another row/group lower down. Bah. I'm interested but I don't dare get a closer and clearer look by actually opening the jar.

I'm neglecting my homework and don't really mind. Yet again, there are more interesting things to do and more excuses to put off what should have been started hours ago. I do a silly thing when I'm avoiding a big project: I take on several little ones and work on all of those. On Thesis Week, I manage to clean my room, wash my dishes, do my laundry (folded and put away nicely!) and do myriad other things both domestic and insane before I touch the keyboard with thoughts of working on the original project.

And when the deadline looms like a tsunami, I work. I think I work well under pressure, because so far I’ve gotten A’s on my thesis papers.

Blogger died as I was trying to post this, so I went down to let Goldilocks out. When I went down to let her out I discovered that her kin are regulars here, they are indeed not poisonous, and nobody quite knows what they are, but they like the bathrooms because it's warmer in there. Makes sense... I think I saw one in the shower once.

It's raining!

The first spring rain of the year! - in my opinion anyway, because it's the first warm rain we've had.

I'm excited. If it lasts more than a few minutes I'm going to go play in the puddles :) and run barefoot again. I went barefoot most of yesterday with the exceptions of walking around classrooms and getting food, and it was wonderful. The weather was summerlike and today several of my classmates are sporting reddened skin. It's good to see everyone cheering up after all the midwinter depression that went on around here.

This morning I got quite a scare. I was holding an open cup of berry applesauce in one hand and had just sat down and licked the lid when I felt something crawly making its way up my back. Naturally, I reacted by jumping and squealing and brushing at the unseen assailant... and splattering the full cup of applesauce on the carpet. Whatever my mysterious morning visitor was, it disappeared somewhere and I haven't seen it since. Being arachnaphobic I simply assume it was a spider, likely one of the quick, jumping kind that scare me the most. It felt like one.

I remember that when I was a little girl I would actually burst into tears at the sight of a spider. We lived in an old house back then and creatures with more than four legs were a regular occurrence. We had an ant colony just outside the kitchen, we had ladybugs around the windows and of course there were spiders in every corner. The other bugs were just bugs - they didn't bother me in the least, except the time I found a silverfish in the bathtub. For a while, I actually ate the ants on the sidewalk. I don't remember why, I simply recall one sunny day that I spent crouched over a scurrying group of ants, trying to pick them up and happily popping them into my mouth. My sister refused to join me, though.

There is one day I recall very strongly and have often used as proof that I have gotten much better about dealing with spiders. I have no idea how old I was and vaguely remember that it was summer. The details are still clear, though. I had seen a spider in my bedroom earlier in the day and while I had daddy take care of it for me I was still nervous and a little upset. Less than an hour later I was in the kitchen when another one, this one a little larger and far more scary, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It looked like it could leap at my face - and was going to. Not only did I scream and jump away from it as it scurried up the wall in search of a meal, I broke down entirely. Even after dad had chased the spider away it was a long time before I stopped crying and calmed down enough to look around again. The utter terror I experienced then has largely disappeared but I still get nervous whenever arachnids are involved.

I haven't been supremely jumpy in a while. In fact, when I was at camp last year I got to the point where I would barely start if a spider hurried across my hand. I guess not having them around (or at least not having them visible here in the residence hall) has sharpened my sensitivity to them. I've only seen two since I got here and one of them was probably dead. I didn't bother poking it to find out. Anyway, the spider/ant/imaginary beast from under the bed put me on edge and I had to sit down facing the opposite way a few feet from where I'd been just in case it decided to come out of hiding. I dislike being woken by creepy crawlies.

Maybe if my curiousity stops cowering in the corner I'll go look among my food supplies, as that's the most logical place for it to hide. But I'll go cautiously, with many pauses and starts and careful movements, and I'll carry a weapon in case squishing is necessary. Ew, bug guts on the carpet.

Emo?

I'm going to a concert tonight. I'm not going because I know any of the bands, though. I simply volunteered to write up the review of the concert for Friday's issue of The Penn. It's sponsored by a group called Alternative Press and according to the people who've heard of the bands, they lean toward emo. Well, as another Penn writer said on Monday: "as long as they're not screamo." If it was screaming death-metal I'd have said no, but I think I can handle excessive unprovoked angst for a few hours.

The newspaper is hiring for next fall, too. Being a writer (or a hopeful writer, as this is my first assignment that I'll be able to actually get started on) I am automatically in the running for a position and will be considered a little ahead of other non-writer applicants. That's good, because The Penn pays writers well and probably has good wages for its full time staff as well. Besides, a career in journalism might be fun :) It will certainly give me a chance to exercise my writing and social skills.

Right. So I was talking about the band(s). There are five of them performing, which means short sets and lots of pauses to change them. A Google search for Straylight Run, the headlining band, reveals that yes, they are indeed emo. Oh, joy. The song titles on their music page are appropriately angst-ridden, and the music is delightfully soft. There's a girl in the band, too. That rocks.

I'd best go look up the other bands so I can get ready for what I'm jumping into tonight ^_^

Million. That's a lot.

This afternoon, I was set off by a thread on the ProbeTalk forums (my boyfriend drives a Ford Probe). It seems there's been another earthquake in Indonesia. I feel bad for the residents, but there's little I can do to help from here, as I have little to no money and can't get myself out there to help at the scene either.

The Indonesia incident didn't bother me. What bothered me was that while we're all focused on places overseas, there are people right here in the US that don't have adequate food, shelter or health care. I don't think the government should get so involved overseas (or even that our citizens should) when there's still so many problems right here at home. It's like outsourcing help; people in the wonderful white middle-class that makes up what they still call a majority in America don't like to bother themselves with immigrants, lower-class neighbors or the homeless vetrans who we've all heard about, so we just ignore the problem, for the most part.

Habitat for Humanity is the only organization I can think of off the top of my head that actually works within the United States extensively. The rest of the wonderful nonprofit save-the-world-one-person-at-a-time organizations are mostly focused overseas, trying to help tsunami victims and clean up South Africa while two blocks away from their headquarters in major cities, people are living under fire escapes.

This is the latest census data on poverty in the United States. I look at this and shudder. Over ten percent of our population is living below the poverty level - that's one out of ten people. That's as high as the number of gays in any given population, if I remember correctly; and it's absolutely terrifying. That we should have so many people who can't afford a loaf of bread some weeks in one of the richest countries in the world is mind-blowing.

Study that chart. Almost fifty years, and the poverty rate in this country continues to hover near the rate it was in 1959. Even with all our advances in medicine, technology, agriculture and science this society has not yet found a way to improve the condition of life for 12.5% of its population (or hadn't as of 2003). If the data hasn't shifted drastically in the past two years (which I doubt), then we're still in the same situation today. I looked up the latest population estimates for the US: Approximately 293.4 million people. Using the 2003 poverty rate (12.5%), the number of poor in America is currently around 36.7 million.

That's a lot of people. If you'd like to check my numbers, the US Census Bureau is where all my information came from.

The first tsunami killed around 225 thousand(correct me if I'm wrong). The second earthquake has killed 2-3 hundred. Starvation kills thousands every day. So why are we focused entirely on Indonesia?

A Reply...

...to a comment on Badaunt's blog:

"Anybody who’s ever seen smooshed skunks, coons, possums, dogs, cats and rabbits on the roads and expressways will realize that animals (whom I prefer to humans any day, btw) do not have enough understanding to avoid the perils of human contraptions."

And anybody who's ever seen broken bones, crushed limbs, stitches, scars, life support systems beeping away in busy hospitals and emergency rooms on a bad night will realize that humans (whom I place lower on the list than animals myself) do not have enough understanding to avoid the perils of their own contraptions and contrivances.

Just felt I had to get that out. You don't have to agree with my contemptuous view of homo sapiens, and in fact I think it's better if you don't. If everyone thought like I did the world would be a very scary place.

May Angels Lead You In...

Grandma died this morning at about 6 am. She was my last surviving grandparent - I lost the others a long time ago (two before I was old enough to remember them at all).

I miss her a little, but I feel that we shouldn't be mourning a life of almost eighty years now ended. It was her time, and that's all. I know my parents will be mourning, but I celebrate that up until the last few weeks she wasn't in the hospital, she was laughing at Thanksgiving and sounded like she was still smiling the last time I talked to her on the phone a few weeks ago. I'm glad the last time I saw my grandmother she wasn't in the hospital and deathly ill, because now I can remember her the way she'd want to be remembered - among family and friends, the spirited woman who told me stories about learning to fly a plane and her crush on the instructor. I think if I'd been around when she was young we might have been friends. As it is, I didn't know her as well as I wanted to. But no time for regret now. She knew I loved her.

I'll probably be missing class for a few days to attend the funeral. We'll see what happens.

Fragments of thought which would have made up longer entries, had I the motivation.

I went to sleep last night with a polished piece of amethyst in my hand. It was a gift from my little sister, along with a pretty mirror-bottomed box to keep it in. Amethyst is supposed to stimulate the immune system and facilitate spiritual awareness. I was curious whether it would help me dream more vividly or remember them later. I guess not. I woke up this morning to the sound of my stupid, loud country music alarm - I keep forgetting to change the radio station. I don't remember any of my dreams, and I found the amethyst in a fold of the sheet.

Tuesdays seem to hate me. Or maybe it's mornings that hate me... at any rate, this morning certainly wasn't kind. I spilled water on a book I just bought for Core (and haven't totally read), I was almost late for all three of my classes today (and had tests in the first two), I forgot my calculator for the physics test and my good pencil for the math test, and I managed to trip over something invisible on the way to my desk in Physics. And there's a little headache randomly poking my brain and threatening to get worse, though it's been there for over an hour and done nothing extremely painful yet.
Core was canceled today. I can sleep now, I guess.. but I'll likely just read, and find something to eat, and avoid homework.

24 days of class left, according to someone's door. My calendar agrees. Holy acorns, that's nothing! I don't believe I'm this close to being done with my freshman year of college.

I have a job (of sorts). I went to the Penn writer's meeting last night and got an assignment. They pay $7.50 per published story, so if I write one a week I'll actually have an income (though it's hardly a living). And writing for a paper isn't so bad... I just hope my writing is up to par and I can sound objective enough. I think I'll turn in that application to work at the library for next fall. Maybe I'll have a shot at the job.

Grandma is dying. I don't know what else to say about that, I've repeated the story to those who really needed to be told. I probably won't get to see her, but that's all right. Dad and my sisters can bring my love with when they go see her this week.

The forget-me-nots are being pessimists. One of the four is doing rather well, while its companion which was nearly as big appears to have given up and has wilted. In the other flowerpot, the two smaller seedlings are being put through some stress - I just took the lid off their little makeshift greenhouse because they're too big for it. I hope they make it... I want to transplant them to the rock garden at home when I get back for the summer. And I really want to see them flower...

I think too much. I need to follow my heart a little more sometimes.

I'm embarking on a quest of sorts - to read at least half the books in the little tub Rick let me borrow by the end of the semester. It's going to be fun... and time-consuming. At least my homework load this semester is rather light.

Change is good... (or is it?)

I have been assigned a new child to tutor, as the other boy stopped coming and his mother has not called. The new child is in third grade, loves to draw and his favorite season is winter (he likes the snowball fights). He's of indeterminable (from my point of view) asian descent, and I believe he doesn't speak English at home much, which would account for his slurred pronunciation of a lot of words. Even so, he's really bright and reads very quickly.

When I told him that he "might be stuck with me" as his other tutor has quit the program, he was pleased and confided in me that he hadn't liked her very much. I hope he likes me better. He asked to draw a picture of me, and I let him; he produced a pretty good likeness in a few seconds. It looks like me, except for the moustache. ^_^

There was a spider in a corner of the bathroom by the door. I looked at it and it didn't move. I was glad, because otherwise I might have jumped - spiders still frighten me. Thank you, spider.

Spring is coming, slowly. I can see grass again, though I wonder if we'll have more snow and it'll be covered up before it warms up for good. I can't believe I'm nearly through my freshman year of college already. High school never went so fast.

The time of my life...

I've been bloghopping again and realized I hadn't looked at some peoples' blogs for a while. TM's latest entry was about her prom(s) and that made me think about mine. I didn't go to my junior prom. I didn't have a date, I was incredibly self-conscious about being seen in a dress, and I was sure my mother didn't have the money anyway. It was probably for the best because none of my friends went either and I didn't feel at all left out.

I did decide to go to my senior prom. I was determined to create a perfect night so that I could look back thirty years later and say 'that is the best high school memory I have' and it would be true. I looked frantically for the perfect dress - affordable for my parents because I knew they wouldn't pay $400 for my dream ballgown but one that would look dazzlingly good on me and stun all the immature boys who hadn't asked me to prom and shame them into thinking I really was pretty after all. I had a little more self-confidence at that point; I at least wanted the dress to reflect that I felt pretty. I still didn't have a date but my friends were going and surely there would be someone who would ask me to dance... except nobody did. The night wasn't so bad, except that like TM's the prom was held at a country club and the music was all the popular rap/r&b that was totally unsuited for dancing to (ever watch a girl in a full-skirted ballgown try to grind?) and gave me a headache. My hair wasn't perfect (thanks, mom, I know you tried) and no guys danced with me and I ended up feeling rather left out after all even though I went and even though I knew that if I'd stayed home I would have also felt left out. The highlight of the evening was seeing my tomboyish best friend actually wearing a dress. I'll never forget that.

I suppose the point of my tale is that running after happiness never really works. Even though TM's junior prom seems like a dream come true (and was exactly what I would have wished for) I never have found happiness when I was chasing it. It just sneaks up uncalled for and pounces gleefully at the most surprising times. I think some of the most happy memories I have are of moments I can never recreate and wasn't looking for.

Disappointment.

R+D says:
I got distracted and thought "Hm.. I'm going to check [your dad's] blog before I go, just to see if he posted anything"

Meh.
Still Water says:
what'd he post? ;x
Still Water says:
*goes to read*

R+D says:
*Nuzzles*
R+D says:
Your thoughts?
Still Water says:
*reads*
Still Water says:
it just loaded..
R+D says:
Oh
R+D says:
I forgot your connection speed, sorry
R+D says:
*Hugs*
Still Water says:
I don't know what I'm thinking, really. I'm crying. God damnit.. all I ever wanted out of Dad was his approval, and he's never given it unless I followed his rules exactly

Still Water says:
I'm trying to get things right but he's afraid to let me make mistakes
Still Water says:
It's frustrating

About a week ago Badaunt made a "Dear Dad" post. I read it, and thought that I was glad my father wasn't like that.

Yesterday was my birthday, and I saw my dad for the first time in weeks. I had no party, just invited my boyfriend and family to share dinner and cake. It was a wonderful evening, for the most part. However, my father has been growing more and more distant lately. Whenever I see him it seems he has some new comment on my behavior, or another question that I can't find the right way to answer. While I spent most of the evening enjoying the company of my boyfriend and my sisters, my father removed himself to an armchair and sat reading, occasionally trying to read something out loud to us, and giving us Looks. Anyone who's seen one knows what I mean. The eyebrow raised, "And Just What Do You Think You're Doing?" look. Then he posted something in his weblog that reminded me how much I wanted to say to him and haven't found the words for. And so this is to you, dad. Even if you never read it. Even if you don't like what I say. Even if in later years I look back and think that these were the words of a silly little girl still looking for her place in the world.

Dear Dad,
First of all let me say that I still love you. In the past few years I might have grown up a little and away a lot, but you are still my daddy. I still like to come to you with something I have made or found or done, and with that little girl innocence I like to say "Look, Daddy. Look at this" and I still love to see a smile come across your face and see that you approve. That's why it hurts when you don't.

I know I have a lot more growing up to do. There are days I still feel like I'm a five year old, unsure of the world and everything in it. There are times I realize just how little life experience I have only because I've forgotten something or done it the wrong way, and have to go back and fix it. There are still nights I cry when I don't have anyone to tell me things will be all right. But I'm nineteen now, dad. I know that I can't be childish any more. Life doesn't offer a second chance at growing up and I'm long past the stage when I can come to you and sit on your knee when I need comforting. I have to learn how to pick myself up instead of reaching for your hand, and you have to learn how to let me fall down without reaching out to catch me.

When I was very young you used to nudge me out into the world and encourage me to grow. I was intelligent and you encouraged me to be curious, I loved to read and you pushed me into bigger and harder books. Always, when I succeeded there was the smile and when I failed there were gentle words. Now that I'm older you're harder on me. I don't get that smile so much any more and when I do it seems tainted by something sad. What have I done that makes you so unhappy, dad? Have I done the wrong thing in using what you taught me?

I've grown up, I'm not a little girl any more and I am trying to learn new lessons. I need to try and fail because I realize that there are some lessons in which failure can teach more than success. You told me stories as all parents do: of past mistakes which I was not supposed to make, because you had made them already. It's my turn dad, to create stories for my children by making my own mistakes.

I know now that you don't disapprove of my boyfriend as a person. I'm sure you don't disapprove of me entirely, though sometimes I wonder whether that would change if you could see me as I really am. I know that I am strong willed and sometimes very immature, and he can be too. I realize that what you have seen from us is mostly a lot of physical contact without much other involvement. There is a lot you miss. I don't know if you see how happy I am to talk to him, even if it's just small talk about his day. I do not think you see how I worry when he does not get to my dorm on time and the weather is bad, or how gentle he is with me when he touches me or holds my hand. I know you do not hear our conversations, or my thoughts about this relationship, which rarely uncurl themselves and find their way into writing. Maybe you do not even see how much I long for the acceptance that everyone needs and how glad I am to have found it with him.

This is all very silly of me, saying that because he accepts me, this is love. I have no definition of love yet. I say I love him because that word seems to sum up the way I care for him. I do not want to see him hurt, I do not want to see him fail. I want to be there for him as support and as a friend, and maybe as a lover. I want to be proud of what he can do and make him proud by doing what I can to the best of my ability. I want to be able to come home and find him there when I have a bad day and I want to be there for him when he has one. I want to have long conversations with him about the future and the past and world politics and games and books and anything else that catches our fancy. I wanted someone to give my heart to and I believe that he can take care of it. In many ways I am a silly little girl dreaming of fairy-tale romance and I know it.

Does growing up change things so much? Do you now look to love someone so differently from that? Do you not still care for them, support them and wish to see them succeed? Do you not enjoy their presence even if words are not spoken, and delight in conversation because you might just discover something new? Do you not wish to be near the ones you love, so that you can offer a hug or a smile or a hand to hold? If you can define love and put it in a little box for me I would like you to send it to my dorm - you have the address - and please leave instructions regarding who it is to be given to and how it is allowed to be demonstrated.

We are a physical couple. I see it so much now among those I know that I have taken it as a natural thing that I should display the emotion I feel. I see nothing wrong with holding hands, or "fondling" each other's hand, as you so described it. Even I will admit that sometimes our displays of affection are inappropriate. We are children yet and we will become more respectful of others with time. You say that public physical contact shouts of relational insecurity. I can stretch my imagination and see your reason, I think. Somehow we have developed insecurities - look at me, daddy. Remember that a healthy and secure relationship first starts with the parents. Before I "loved" him, I loved you and mom. If I am insecure in a relationship, am I then to blame you? Look at my past two tries. Those failures hurt, as any failure does. Insecurities are present in any relationship. They don't always tear people apart.

You are right that I may deny any wrong in my relationship and will do so blindly, I have done it before. I expect that he would do the same thing. If I am insecure it is because I still want the promise of commitment, to be reassured. Losing someone I love frightens me like nothing else. I don't pretend to know why and I don't know if that will ever change. I think maybe one day I'll learn to let go.

“Do I want to be right? Or do I want to be happy?” I want to be happy, daddy. I want to make you happy, too... but I need to learn how to make the right choices even if it means making wrong ones first. I know that you would rather keep me safe from the pain that this world can cause, but I've endured so far and I'm all right. If sixth grade* did not cripple me noticeably, neither will this. Let me mature at my own pace now and be glad you had all this time to prepare me to leave the nest. I remember a lot of your lessons after all.

You tell me now that I need to bail out of this relationship because it will hurt me later. You say it as though you are sure that a commitment is something neither of us can make, as though we can not survive some rough conditions along the road of life. I see you now, and see that you are separated from my mother after years of marriage and wonder: if you can point out the mistakes that I make, is it because you finally noticed your own? Am I walking in your footsteps, or is my chosen path one you have not followed to see where it might lead, and one you can not guide me down?

I'm not sure if I'm saying all I wanted to say in the way I wanted to say it, dad. See, I'm trying to show you why it hurts so much when you disapprove now. I'm still that little girl on the inside. I'm also trying to describe what I think and feel and hoping that you might understand and respect that I have a mind of my own. You are the one who told me it was all right to think on my own, and now I ask that I be allowed to. I did not learn to walk without falling and I can not learn to be a mature adult without a few more spills. Just walk a little behind me daddy, and be there when I can't get up.

*Sixth grade was hell. Adolescent girls can rip each other apart and for reasons I won't bore you with, they turned on me.

For those who don't know, I really do plan to marry him, but I'm not ready for it yet and I know it. Give me four or five years to get through IUP, into grad school and find a steady job or internship. Give him that time to finish PTI, maybe go on to a higher degree and find a good job for himself. We want to spend our lives together, and we know that if we plan to have decades together after we're married, a few years of waiting should not matter.

Thinking out loud

One of my neighbors is a transfer student who came in a few weeks back. She hasn't had much time to adjust to Whitmyre yet, and still keeps to herself as far as I've seen. Her boyfriend, who apparently has been on campus all year, must have been happy that she transferred. She's apparently not, though.

I overheard her tearfully yelling at him this morning, because I happen to have bad timing and was walking back from class at the moment she finished her attack and stormed out of the study lounge. I can safely assume I'm not the only one who heard; the door was partially open and she was loud enough to be heard indistinctly from the stairwell. I'm not quite sure what to make of this. I suspect it's happened before. She seemed rather upset about it too. He, on the other hand, looked more confused than anything else. I feel bad for him in some way.

At the same time I worry about my neighbor's well being, I have come to realize how blessed I am to have a stable relationship where there's no yelling, no "I thought you loved me!" and no storming out of rooms. It seems that taking the time to understand your partner is becoming less and less of a priority for my peers, despite its obvious importance to a healthy relationship.

I was brought up in a supportive, loving family, which provided me with at least some base to build my relationship experience on. Then I hit high school and had two relationships, neither of which was much good for various reasons. Despite my "failure" I see those past partners as learning experiences, sounding boards for socialization. I'm now on number three, and have been with him for seven happy months. This is what I've learned:

Trust is important. If you don't trust someone, it's difficult to love them.

Equally important is honesty, because honesty builds trust. You don't have to tell her that she looks fat in that dress, but you should tell her if you're coming home late.

Separate but equal is better than inseperable and unequal. You can't become dependent on someone else unless you're capable of independence already, otherwise you're lost when your partner isn't there. It's also hard to hold up one end of a relationship when the other end isn't doing much work. Partners are just that - not boss and underling, but co-workers.

Relationships are like bridges. They can span distances, they can get across obstacles, and they can lead to undiscovered territory. They can also collapse without proper structural support.

Communication is the key to doors you didn't know existed. Some of them hide scary things behind them, but others have more wonderful prizes than you could imagine. Talk to your partner, and let them talk to you. You might find something really exciting.

I often wonder why so many people can recite these lessons, and yet don't follow them. This isn't the times tables, it's a guide to better, longer, healthier and happier relationships. One would think people might like the idea of a lasting marriage, or even a steady significant other. Who am I to tell everyone what to think, though? They're doing so well on their own... and maybe it's for the best that few people in this world have long term relationships, stay together to start families, and raise them properly. I'm still saddened by the incredibly high divorce rate in this country. I think it has more to say about American Values than any "War on Terror" ever could.

Observations on a world

copied directly from my livejournal, because I figure that once in a while a random bit of thought deserves a place here among my unfinished ranting
This morning, it rained. Halfway through the morning the weather changed its mind and decided that it didn't care if the temperature was still 40, it was going to snow, and ever since then it's been randomly dropping wet snowflakes and bits of hail over campus in hopes of getting it to stick somewhere.

When I got out of Physics Lab, campus was miraculous. Mother Nature had momentarily stopped trying to reincarnate winter, and everything was crystal-clear - like a 3-D picture that you suddenly see when everything just leaps off the background. It was all sharp edges and points and perfectly defined shapes. The entire world had depth. Forgive me, maybe everyone sees things like that, but I've always had problems with depth perception due to my nearsightedness. Maybe it was just that everything was separate, and each person, building, tree and ripple in the puddles stood out from all the rest. I was watching a scene of thousands of layers put one on top of the other, but none of the layers really seemed like they were interacting, and I wasn't either. There was nothing I could have reached out and touched, not because it would have ruined the illusion but because things were on other layers of existence at that moment.

I must sound like I'm on drugs. I think too much about things, anyone who knows me will agree. There's just so much to think about that I don't want to miss something. gnikniht ekil I. *giggles* I'm paranoid that if I said that forwards someone would come silence me. :P I'm crazy, you know...

Walking back from Ed Psych today, the sky was doing one of its impressive juxtapositions of sun and clouds again and looking absolutely stunning... It seems like Indiana is one of those places that is just blessed when it comes to sunshine. There was a circle of grey cloud all the way around the horizon, and yet right above my head there was pure blue sky so intense that it looked out of place against the faded late winter colors of everything else, and the sun was warm on my face and it was wonderful.

Either the sky here does more beautiful things than the sky over my house and makes me look up more, or I'm just looking up because I'm happy and confident, and noticing what's above me more often. I used to look at my feet when I walked, and I've noticed lately that my feet aren't getting nearly as much attention as the birds, trees and sky. It makes me smile.

Of course, the sun never lasts long on days like this, and it makes me wonder how many people missed seeing it for the brief twenty minutes or so that it was out. My quote of the day yesterday was: "I want to find a nice sunny spot and curl up on the floor and purr." Jane gave me a 'You're Weird, People Don't Purr' Look for saying it, but that's what I wanted to do... It was lovely yesterday, sunny and warm and I went without a jacket, and if the ground had been warmer I would have gone barefoot. I miss going barefoot, shoes are overrated. So is makeup. People look better without artificial enhancement.

Only two and a half days till I see Rick again. Wow. That makes me happy too, because I like having him around ^_^. *hugs him*

Happy...

Is it sad that we miss each other already?

I liked having another person in the room. It was good to come "home" after classes today and have him here, waiting for me. It was wonderful to have someone to hug at random, someone to curl up next to and watch anime with, someone to laugh with. I felt like I was complete, and I was content to stay that way.

But he stayed the whole weekend and today as well, and that's more than I'd ever ask of him most times. The roses were a romantic touch to the weekend... 18 of them in colors that rival the sunrise. They're beautiful; I put them in the vase he sent me with the last bouquet. This has been the best Valentine's Day of my short life, and I don't think I'll ever forget it.

We saw a Korean film on Sunday, part of the Indiana Foreign Film Festival. We also went out to eat, at the King Buffet again. ^_^ It's becoming something of a tradition and it's one I like.

And I didn't have a lot of time to miss him right after he left, which is usually when it hits hardest that I have an empty room again. We went to Taco Bell, and afterward he dropped me off at the door of Whitmyre and left. I had to run off to KidsRead. There's a mixed blessing in working with children: you have to focus all of your attention on them, so that there's no time for other thoughts or feelings. I know kids tend to pick up on it when an adult is distant and since I had to be a replacement tutor tonight I was determined to put on my happy face and push everything else away. It worked, until the session ended...

I'm not lusting after him. I just miss his presence, his jokes, his smile. I miss having someone by my side who at least tries to understand me, who makes sure I get into bed early enough that I get some sleep before class, who tickles me randomly just to hear me giggle. I miss the way he sits and watches cars and can pick out a few of them before I even realize they're there. I miss his geekiness and I miss being able to reach out and brush his hair back when those few unruly strands fall forward. It's getting long, and it looks good, even if it does cover up those beautiful blue eyes.

So is it sad that I miss him? He misses me, too.

Memorize

Then Jove said to Apollo, "Go to Hector, for Neptune who holds the earth in his embrace has gone down beneath the sea to avoid the severity of my displeasure. Had he not the gods below with Saturn would have come to hear of our fight. It is better for both of us that he curbed his anger, for I should have had much trouble with him."
Take, therefore, your great weapon, and shake it furiously so as to strike fear into the hearts of the Achaean heroes; take also brave Hector into your care, and rouse him to deeds of daring until the Achaeans are sent flying to their ships. From that point I will think well on how the Achaeans may have a respite from their troubles."

Apollo obeyed his father's saying, and flew from Mount Ida like a falcon, bane of doves and swiftest of all birds. He came upon Hector no longer lying upon the ground, but sitting up, for he had just come to himself. Apollo stood by him and said, "Hector son of Priam, why are you so faint, and why are you here away from the others? Has some mishap befallen you?"

Hector answered in a weak voice, "Which of the gods are you, kind sir, who now asks me thus? Do you not know that Ajax struck me in the chest with a rock as I was killing his comrades at the ships of the Achaeans? I made sure that this very day I would breathe my last and go down into the house of Hades."

King Apollo then said to him, "Take heart, for the sun of Saturn has sent a great helper to you from Ida, even myself, Apollo of the golden sword, who hitherto have been guardian not only of yourself but of your city. Therefore, order your horsemen to drive their chariots to the ships of the Achaeans in great multitude, and I will come before and smooth the way for you, and will turn the Achaeans in flight."

I typed that mostly from memory, with a quick look at my handwritten copy. It's not The Iliad in verse the way it's usually translated, but it is The Iliad nonetheless. I'm supposed to memorize a part of my choosing for class this afternoon. ^_^'

What's the use of memorization? We're doing it in class to illustrate how people passed down oral traditions and works of literature, but I remember in high school how many things I had to remember, and how many I chose to. Shakespeare, four plays: Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Macbeth and Hamlet. I had to memorize Juliet's soliloquy (complete with Romeo's interjection and every mark of punctuation), Macbeth's rant (Out, out brief candle!), and Hamlet's ponderings (To sleep, perchance to dream -). The funny thing is that despite starting my memorization as late as possible while still getting good grades on the tests, I remember most of it now. I also had to memorize the last verse of a poem whose title I never get quite right... The Wedding Guest or something along those (these?) lines:

"Farewell, farewell! But this I tell
To thee, o wedding guest:
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the great god who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

Forgive me if it's not perfect in punctuation or wording, it's been three years; and yet there's something about those lines that stuck with me even after I forgot most of the short stories and the authors of every book we read in that class. They must serve some purpose, all the things I've learned and not used since are long forgotten, stored in some dusty memory bank whose connections are being rediverted to newer things.

Our Core question in Unit A was "What do we know? What do we believe? What, therefore, should we do?" and my class focused on the question from the perspective of memory. It seems that our memory effects a lot of what we know and believe. If I remember something a certain way, I believe it to exist that way until someone proves me wrong. If enough people remember it that way, then we "know" that it exists that way because we have others to lend support to our theory/belief and make it law/knowledge. I remember that the earth is round; I was taught so by someone who truly believed the earth is round. It's a proven belief, therefore it becomes knowledge. Memory also effects what we decide to believe. We have to take some things as fact, such as the existence of gravity, but other things such as the existence of "God" are belief, they can not be proven nor disproven by a solid theory as of yet. Certain people may not believe in God due to incidents they remember, like losing loved ones for what they see as "no good reason" and blaming God for it, or deciding that there is no God because "he would have saved them!".

I'm thinking about focusing on memory and whether we remember things that are relevant to us in our daily lives as a topic for my thesis paper. Memory fascinates me. There has to be a reason that certain people remember certain things, and an explanation behind my ability to remember poetry and songs from years ago when I have no luck remembering names and dates that I learned last week. Maybe there's some part of our brain devoted to exact, perfect memorization. It would make sense, given that some people claim to have a "photographic memory." If this is so, then all of us might be able to remember anything we wanted.

I also think it's fascinating how fast people forget certain aspects of life. Part of my argument on memory was sparked by a thought on recent history and what people remember about it. Works like the Iliad survive because people remember them and eventually write them down, and since they're remembered we assume that they're "good," but what do we remember about our country? We remember Monica Lewinsky, we can still talk about Enron and we make jokes about OJ, Marilyn Manson and Martha Stewart. Most people couldn't tell you the date that the DOW topped 10,000, but they can describe in minute detail where they were and what they were doing the moment they heard about the Sept. 11 attacks.

Martha Stewart had nothing to do with me. Her crime was irrelevant to my life; I neither gained useful knowledge nor lost anything important (other than the space of the memory) when I heard about the scandal. I still remember it, though. Is this memory just an effect of repetition, because the news media made such a fuss over it, or is it some social survival tactic which allows me to remember things I may need to know to look informed? The latter hardly seems likely. Can you imagine Adam and Eve wandering around going "Hey, did you hear about the wombats? Seems they're being eaten by the wild dogs, we should look into that," or the people of Pompeii chatting on the street corner, "Oh, by the way, did you hear about that volcano?" "Yeah, I'm really worried about getting ashes in my wine."

Either way, it's a fascinating topic. So is whether we actually remember anything except the terrific and the terrible. Think about that one. I know I will.

Just because.

It took me two tries to get the new comments code up and working. Thank you, Badaunt! Now you should be able to click on the comments link and see the comments displayed right below the post, without loading a new page. Nice, eh?

I plan to put another long update here before tomorrow. I have had a lot to think about lately.

About the Cover:

A short introduction to the problem of school I very much agree with this article, and may link to it in the sidebar, because it is well worth remembering.

Notes on Critical Thinking:
"Critical thinking" in the sense I was taught it means ARQ. For those uninitiated in the ways of the Honors College here, I will give a brief explanation of what ARQ means, and what it represents.
Browne, M. Neil, and Keeley, Stuart M. Asking the Right Questions: A Guide to Critical Thinking. 7th Ed. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2004.
On the second page just below the Library of Congress catalog information is a small paragraph which I believe most people overlook, as it's hidden with the rest of the publishing data and seems unimportant. It reads:

"About the cover: At first glance, you may have thought you were looking at a photograph of a road sign somewhere in Europe. Did you question this initial impression? What did you first notice about the sign? Did your mind start to realize that your initial assumption was wrong? Why? This road sign is actually located in southern Maine, where many towns were given European place names. In becoming a critical thinker, you learn to take control of your own thought processes and go beyond the obvious by questioning, analyzing, and evaluating your own thoughts and ideas."

ARQ has 14 chapters encompassing 11 steps to well developed critical thinking skills. The "right questions" we are taught to ask are as follows:
1. What are the Issue and Conclusion?
2. What are the Reasons?
3. What words or phrases are Ambiguous?
4. What are the Value Conflics and Assumptions?
5. What are the Descriptive Assumptions?
6. Are there any Fallacies in the Reasoning?
7. How Good is the Evidence? (two chapters)
8. Are there Rival Causes?
9. Are the Statistics Deceptive?
10. What Significant Information is Omitted?
11. What Reasonable Conclusions are Possible?

Of course these are reasonable questions to ask when one is faced with an argument for abortion, or a speech about the State of the Union. We should analyze what we hear to be sure we're not just (excuse my language) swallowing bullshit. These questions, however, are meant to help us question and analyze our own thoughts and ideas, as stated in that little paragraph on the title page.

Am I to understand that the point of critical thinking is to create self-doubt? When I am taught to question every original thought I have, it leads me to believe that my ideas, and therefore my self, are inherently flawed. That's great for self esteem.

That's just one problem the schools have. I'm too tired to go into it all. Let it suffice to say I could write a doctoral thesis on the problems of the American Education system, and I've got case examples straight from my own family.

To be, or not to be shallow; That is the question...

The following appeared in my inbox the other day, and being curious (and female) I decided to pay some attention. Of course, it only led to pessimism (and a lovely half-assed rant).

"Hello Students!
The 16th Annual Miss IUP Pageant is quickly approaching on Saturday, April 2nd, 2005. If you are interested in becoming the next Miss IUP, please join us at the next planning meeting at 8pm on Thursday, February 3rd in the HUB Conemaugh Room."

This looked exciting, even though I knew very well that "Pageant" stands for "Sexual Appeal and Popularity Competition." But surely, they're not all that bad... I shrugged off my preconceptions and dove in.

Date: Tue, 01 Feb 2005 14:36:00 -0500
Hi,
I have some questions about the Miss IUP Pageant. What exactly are the categories contestants will be judged in, and what preparation do we need?
Also, can you provide some information on past winners? I'd like to know what kind of person you are looking for to become the next Miss IUP.
Thank you

The reply was prompt:
"The categories that you will be judged on are, Talent, Formal wear, and Aerobic wear, also you will be judged on a 7 min interview on the day of the pageant and a question during the formal wear. There will be meetings and patience's that you will have to attend
We are not looking for a particular person. Anyone that fits the requirements and has the time to put into the practices. If you feel you are a good candidate to be the next Miss IUP then you should defiantly think about it."

So, slightly disheartened and twitchy from trying not to correct a few things in the response (defiantly?! *twitch*) and email it back to her, I went looking for past winners. This was two years ago.

...Yep, that's really gonna be my thing. What would my talent be? I don't do impressions, I don't dance, my singing voice isn't all that great, and I don't think any of the sorority girls would be impressed by my ability to create a simple web page or contemplate the works of Plato using ARQ. Who would?

A few years ago, recruiters for the Miss Teen USA competition sent me information and asked if I would enter. They included bios of the past winners, and requirements for entering. I can't remember them all, but I do remember thinking that they'd never take a girl with glasses any farther than the first level of competition. Yet again, here I am looking at another popularity pageant that claims it's open to anyone, and thinking "well, it closed its doors on me before I even opened my mouth." Look at me, compared to the average beauty queen:

Me
Height, Weight: 5'8", 125 or so.
Cup size: Barely A
Hair: Long, straight.
All-natural.
Glasses?: Yes.
Talents: Singing (maybe).
Working with children.
Procrastinating
Telling the truth
Makeup: Not unless I'm in a play
Would: Stop the war on Iraq
Respect my elders
Apply for citizenship in Mexico
Volunteer work: KidsRead, I love it
Habitat (If I had time!)
Girl Scouts. Because I am one.
Looks good in: Tshirts, jeans, hoodies. Long skirts. Sneakers.

"Beauty"
Height/Weight: 5'8", 112 or so.
Cup Size: At least B
Hair: Permed, curled or straightened, dyed/highlighted
Glasses?: No, or she wears contacts.
Talents: Singing (perfectly)
Dance
Playing instrument(s)
Putting on a mask (and she does drama, too!)
Makeup: Always. And it's perfect.
Would: Save the puppies and kitties
Be "kind" to the elderly
Tell everyone how great the US is
Volunteer work: KidsRead, it makes her look good
Humane Society (Awww, puppies!)
Sorority activities. She's probably in one.
Looks good in: Tight shirts, tight pants, short shorts. Heels.

Formal wear? I don't own any, aside from my old prom dress. Nor do I have the money to go out and look for the perfect $400 dress for a competition like this, plus the bone-crunching high heels of death that would have to come with it. And accessories. Oh, yes. Accessories. She'd probably have a closet full of slinky, sparkly things and still want a new dress, shoes, purse, hair clip, makeup and scarf.

This saddens me. Beauty pageants are not only damaging to girls' self esteem, they're damaging to our common sense. We reward the shallow aspects of someone's personality, the overtones that shade them in rosy hues but hide the emptiness within. We would rather have Barbie than Mother Theresa, unless the latter was a drop-dead gorgeous specimen of human flesh on top of being humble, generous and forgiving.

I may be beautiful in my own way, but it's not the kind of beauty they're looking for. I don't even shave my legs on a regular basis any more. There's not a reason to, except to impress boys with my smooth, "delicate" skin.

There is nothing wrong with the body in its natural form. Humans were given hair on their bodies for a reason, whether it's remnants of fur (hi, evolutionists!) or whether we were given hairy bodies by God (*waves at the Christians*). Either way, there is little sense in removing what little hair we have. I've heard arguments about cleanliness. Well, if you bathe every day you're not going to smell. Unless you're licking yourself like a cat, that is. Hair also serves as another barrier for pathogens. Cilia, anyone? They're tiny hairs. You can't tell me that having hairy legs makes me dirtier than a girl who has smooth legs. That's absurd.

Breasts are an issue, too. People used to make fun of me because I was flat-chested until long after most of my friends had filled their bras. I remember in sixth grade hearing rumors of people stuffing their bras, and thinking how mean it was that the other girls would make fun either way. Damned if you do and damned if you don't, because if you're flat you don't fit with the popular girls and if you stuff a bra you're a poser. Why don't people just get over the fact that smaller breasts are just as beautiful as large ones? In my opinion, smaller is better. You don't see many gymnasts, runners or dancers with a C-cup, do you?

Men seem to have gotten it into their heads these days that the bigger a girl's cup size, the greater she'll be. In bed, in a relationship, or as a friend, coworker, or employee. I have gotten it into my head that the bigger a girl wants her cup size to be, the smaller her IQ tends to be. That's not always true but it fits a good percentage of the population most of the time. =P

The human body is beautiful naturally. I don't see the need to add to that beauty with layers of makeup, attention-grabbing clothing and in some cases, surgery. Accenting it with well-fitting (but not skintight) clothing and keeping yourself in good physical shape aren't bad things, but people take looking "beautiful" to an extreme, and it's one I don't want to go to.

Stephanie says "Enter! Try!" and so maybe I will. The planning meeting is tonight. I'll go take a shower and dress myself nicely, and see what this is all about. Who knows, maybe I'll find out something new about these people, and about myself. Either way, I'll prove that someone other than a beach babe is interested in representing IUP.

Some small measure of peace...

dad says:
so, how are you?
Still Water says:
I miss you guys
dad says:
what brought that on?
Still Water says:
The blog
dad says:
ah - yeah.. the latest post?
Still Water says:
*nods*
dad says:
yeah, I miss you too.
dad says:
more than you know.

R+D says:
I miss you
Still Water says:
I miss you too

I guess what I wanted to say here is that no matter what, there's always going to be someone thinking of me, and missing me. And I'll be missing them. It's been a little over five months since I moved into the residence hall here at IUP, thinking it would be a nice change from the house, with my sometimes annoying little sisters and my constantly nagging mother. In those five months I've been home twice on weekends when Rick happened to be going up north for something, plus a break for Thanksgiving and another at Christmas. Suddenly, that feels like far too little time.

I've been feeling more and more left out lately; I'm not being included in the life of my family any more. They talk to me, on occasion. Mom emails every week or so, dad calls... sibling 1 doesn't speak to me unless I speak first, which proves difficult with my tendency to get distracted by other (often less important) things. She herself is growing up quite well, and at times I am jealous of how she's turned out, because she is an outstanding young woman. I have no doubt that she will succeed in whatever she decides to do, and I'm proud of her for it, even as I look on slightly envious that she somehow managed to pull her life together faster than I did mine. Sibling 2 has chatted with me recently, and appears to miss me at least, but she's only 13 and rarely allowed online long enough to have a good chat. She's growing up without me around all of a sudden, and even though she's six years younger and an incredible distance from me in some aspects of her personality, I still love her. I see in her a lot that reflects myself at that age, and because of that I worry that she'll make the same mistakes I did. I want to be around to help her grow up, be a cool older sister who she can come to when she needs her hair done for a dance or advice on that boy in her math class, or just needs a shoulder to cry on. I used to think that I'd be glad I was graduating high school the year before she entered it. Now I wish I hadn't been so quick to dismiss my little shadow as someone I didn't need to see once in a while.

The best sources of news now are mom's emails and letters and the blogs. Sibling 1 and dad both have one, and I assume that Sibling 2 may start one as well, when she gets a little older and has the time to sit down and write. I hope the two who have them already continue to update, since this is the only way I've been able to feel like I'm still connected to my family. Being so far away has suddenly become hard to deal with at times. I don't quite understand it yet. I know that if I lived at home I'd be sick of them in no time, but being removed from people who know me better than anyone else does makes me realize how much I miss having them around. That they know just how to get under my skin is an indication of how well they really do know who I am.

Another thing I wonder is whether I've really changed as much as I believe, or if they have all been changes that were waiting to happen anyway. A lot has happened in the last five months and some of it I haven't told to my family, whether it's just the course of a day and what was said or done to make me think about something new, or something that took place over the course of a week or month or longer which I simply left untold. There are some secrets, of course... things which I don't think my family would want to know, or things I don't want them to... but for the most part, I wish I could share with them the happenings of every day, because I want them to see what I've been seeing and find out what I learned. Sharing with friends here has taken the place of talking to family, to some extent, but even most of my friends here don't know me that well yet, nor do they hear half of what I think and feel. I miss my family.

Last weekend Rick came to vist, and to attend the winter semi-formal I'd invited him to weeks ago. I count him among the family too, now. It was a relief to see him, and I had a great time at the dance. Unfortunately, we didn't even get 24 hours together, since he was being driven by his grandparents and they needed to get back home (they live not far from my family). I know I shouldn't complain, that I should be grateful for every second I get with this wonderful man, but I also wish that I could have more than just two weekends a month with him. It's hard holding up a relationship when you're an hour and a half away from each other and the only contact you have is online plus the occasional phone call. He's actually on the phone with me now ^_^ and it's great to hear his voice. "You're so female" he says, referring to the joke I just missed. I miss a lot of jokes, more so when I'm tired. He says a lot of females miss them, though. Apparently guys are too insane to understand. I believe it sometimes.

It's getting near bed time for me. I really should get to bed earlier. Pulling myself out of bed at 6:15 is just not working when I don't get into bed before midnight. *sigh*

R+D says:
Had I wings, I'd fly you home

And so, good night. I'm off to dream of something that hopefully doesn't involve missing my family, homework or spiders. Sweet dreams, world.

Every girl needs a man...

...that she can go to in her sweats, hair a mess, make up running down her face, eyes red from crying and the first thing he says to her is "Baby, you're beautiful" and means it.

Me: (Sends picture of me in oversized hoodie, eyes bloodshot 'cause I'm so tired, hair a mess and falling out of its braid)
Me: there, me as I look now
Him: Ooh
Him: Now if it'd connect *glares at it*
Me: hehe
He received *.JPG.
Him: Beautiful ;-)
Me: gah
Me: *hugs and kisses*
Him: *Hugs and kisses back*
Him: Gah what? :-P
Him: You're beautiful no matter what.

And this is the perfect man ^^ I'm not sure my father would say so but I am in love, and love doesn't pay attention to parental advisories.